Lesbian Maid Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  We entered the warehouse and followed a short darkened hallway around a corner. The man who had peered through the iron door stood at the end of the hall beside a thick, red velvet curtain. He nodded at the mistress as she approached.

  “Miss Foster, welcome back,” he spoke gruffly, then pulled aside the curtain.

  I blinked as I gazed into the large room before us. It was a large space, dimly lit and high ceilinged. It appeared wholly out of place in the decaying warehouse. Deep burgundy walls and dark mahogany furniture, plush velvet seats and rich leather sofas. It appeared like the drawing room of some old gentleman’s club, but writ large, far bigger and more densely populated with guests than such a space ever would be.

  The air was thick with smoke and the cloying aroma of incense. I blinked rapidly, not used to such an oppressive atmosphere. But it didn’t seem to bother any of the other partygoers. I glanced around, attempting to take in the startling array of people that surrounded us, and found myself dumbstruck by the things I saw.

  Everywhere I looked, I saw couples. For every pair, there was a well dressed man or woman who was standing chatting with others, or sipping on an extravagant drink, or merely sitting on a sofa, enjoying the party. The men wore the finest tuxedos, a decadent uniform that varied little between them beyond the occasional fanciful bowtie. The women on the other hand wore dresses that were varied and sumptuous; flowing skirts or draped chiffon gowns in every color imaginable. Some wore masquerade masks, holding them against their faces with slender poles; others wore opulent fur stoles, soft hides that flowed over their shoulders and down their chests.

  It could have been mistaken for, I would imagine, any high society ball. If not for the fact that every guest was accompanied by a girl. Some were on leashes, like me. Some simply stood beside their owner, peering off into space in a submissive trance. Others kneeled at their master or mistress’s feet. Some wore maid outfits, much like my own, and some were completely naked, their bare breasts and young pussies exposed for all to see.

  I scanned around the room, drinking in this overwhelming vista. I found myself thrilled by it. Such an open display of power, of dominance and submission. As I surveyed these peculiar people, I felt a hot flush flooding through my body. There was so much to take in, so much to learn about. With a slow dawning, I gradually came to realise that this world was unlike any I had ever known, and was so diametrically opposed to anything I had been taught. My mind raged, a war of sensibilities. My own independence and free will, once so prized and coveted, now beleaguered and threatened by this exciting new outlook. A need, an overwhelming need, to be owned, to be used, to be possessed. I struggled to reconcile my two sides, but knew, without question, which faction would win.

  A sharp tug on the leash roused me from my gawping and I stumbled off after the mistress as she headed into the throng. Suddenly, a voice called across the room and the mistress turned in that direction.

  “Katherine, darling, I’m so glad you could make it,” a younger woman said as she stepped towards us. She was an icy goddess, dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and dressed in a slinky, white sleeveless gown that showcased her enticing cleavage with a pale, sheer panel.

  “Olivia, my dear, it is good to see you,” replied the mistress and I swore I detected a note of bitter resentment in her voice. The two women embraced, though there was no warmth in it. They fell into a stilted conversation and I studied the woman’s companion.

  Behind her, staring at the ground, also collared and leashed, was a jaw dropping blonde. She was disarmingly attractive, with honey blonde curls that tumbled down her shoulders and back, framing her pretty face. But it was her clothes, rather than her looks, that attracted my eye the most. She wore a classic maid’s uniform, the kind you generally only see in porn or old British comedies. A black silk dress, cut short on her breasts revealing her ample cleavage, and high on her legs. The skirt was frilly and layered, with complex petticoats of white lace. Her legs were covered in black stockings, the intricate lace tops visible, as well as the creamy flesh of her thighs.

  It was a strange costume. Potentially comic, but ultimately highly sexual. I wondered what it would be like to reach under that expansive skirt, to touch the girl between her legs. Would she be wearing panties? I wondered if I would get to find out.

  “So this is your new one is it?” I was suddenly aware of the strange woman looking at me.

  “Yes,” replied the mistress, tightening the leash and dragging me towards her, “this is Cassandra, she’s a reporter.”

  “Oh my,” purred the other woman, “I’ve never had a reporter before. Tell me, how does reporter pussy taste?”

  The mistress smiled and ran a fingertip down my bare arms. “Exquisite,” she drawled, her voice seductive and rich with filthy intent.

  The other woman folded her arms, her gaze lingering on me until I felt deeply uncomfortable. “Hmm, intriguing,” she mused, “and tell me Katherine. Will ‘Cassandra’ be entertaining us later?”

  I felt my heart skip a beat. What did that mean? I was suddenly overwhelmed with a strong urge to be somewhere else. I missed Elizabeth and the other maids, the gentle touch of the mistress’s tongue and the cruel bite of her whip. This world was not my world, though I wasn’t entirely sure what my world was any more.

  The mistress appeared to be pondering the other woman’s question. She finally replied, “You know what they say Olivia, anything is possible.”

  Olivia laughed at this, then wished the mistress a good night. She turned to leave, dragging the french maid behind her. As she brushed past me, she paused and looked me directly in the eye. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” she whispered and wandered off, laughing to herself.

  Chapter 3

  The night wore on and the mistress wandered from person to person, engaging in stilted conversation and laughing at shared memories or inside jokes. I was left largely to my own devices, required only to follow close behind when I felt the insistent tug of the leather leash. In a few encounters, the mistress’s acquaintances commented on my presence and complimented me in the same way that they might a new pair of shoes or a particularly fetching jacket. To my horror, I found myself flushing with pride at every indirect comment. That my mere presence was seen as a feather in the mistress’s cap was intoxicating to me!

  Eventually, we found our way to the back of the large room where a small crowd had gathered around a raised platform. There was a hushed murmur running through the ring of guests, a palpable sense of anticipation. I looked on, curiosity overcoming my natural instinct to gaze at the floor and not get involved.

  On the raised platform stood a dapper looking elderly gentleman with a crisp tuxedo and pencil-thin moustache. His greying hair was slicked back, flat against his head and he had the air of a charming rake about him. Beside him stood a naked girl. She was young looking, younger than me and a brunette. Her hair was held back in a ponytail, and her pussy was completely shaved. She stood in the traditional submissive pose: arms crossed behind her back, legs slightly apart, eyes lowered so as not to make eye contact with any of the gathered crowd.

  I found myself eyeing her hungrily. She had a wonderful body. Curvy in all the right places, with long, toned legs. Her breasts were full and perky, a sure sign of her youth, and her skin was pale and unblemished. I wondered what it would be like to bury my head between her young thighs and taste her in that private place. I wondered how she would kiss. Would she be timid and meek, or did that calm exterior hide a frantic vixen?

  I shook my head, attempting to remain focused and not allow my desires to overwhelm me. It was very important that I absorbed every morsel, every tiny detail. For my story, but also for the mistress. My account of the night was important to her for reasons I could not fathom, but what she wanted was what I must strive to achieve.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! One and all! To the first auction of the evening!” the dapper man on the platform finally said. There a ripple of applause from the c
rowd and an excited chatter.

  The man on the platform raised his hands and the room fell silent once again. “If I may continue,” he scolded with mock sincerity. “Our first lot tonight is this fine specimen you see before you,” he gestured at the girl who stood to his right. She didn’t move an inch. “As you can see, this item is in peak physical condition. A mere waif at twenty one years old and a recent graduate from Ohio State. A biochemistry major, no less!”

  The crowd murmured its approval and a few members of the audience clapped lightly. The man waited for quiet to return.

  “Her name is Amanda, and her Alpha application states: ‘I enjoy rough treatment, total domination, willing to do whatever it takes to serve my owner. Anal virgin.’” The final point was emphasised with perfect clarity, each word dripping with the filthy implication.

  There was a collective sigh in the audience, one woman whooped and the crowd laughed together. Amanda remained perfectly motionless, eyes focused on the floor in front of her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ll agree, a fine item to add to your collections! So, we shall start the bidding at ten thousand. Do I hear ten thousand?”

  My heart skipped a beat and I blinked in surprise. Was this really an auction? Was this girl truly to be sold for actual money? The mistress had said as much, but I hadn’t really thought about it. The whole concept had conjured up images in my mind of those hokey charity slave auctions, the kind you see at swanky soirees and galas. But this was not a charity stunt, this was an actual auction for an actual person. She would be whisked away to a life of obedience and sexual servitude, and she had offered herself into this situation! Why would anyone do that?

  My mind raced, a thousand thoughts coalescing in my brain as multiple strands of opinion clashed. Yes, she offered herself into slavery. But didn’t I? What was different about her position and mine? Was it the money? Did that make it distasteful? I didn’t know, could find no answers within myself. I knew that consensual servitude was morally right, I’d done it myself, so what right did I have to criticize this young girl?

  Around me, the bidding continued.

  “One hundred, do I hear one hundred thousand? One hundred! Do I hear one fifty…?” The dapper man rattled through the numbers at a hundred miles an hour. Pretty soon, the price was over half a million dollars.

  Suddenly, a woman spoke up above the excited chatter. “One million,” she said, her voice silencing the throng in the room. I looked around to see who had spoken, and was surprised to see that it was the mistress’s friend from earlier, the seductive Olivia. She was standing forward from the ring of guests, a smug look of contentment on her face as she greedily eyed the naked girl on the platform.

  The dapper man blinked, then grinned at her. “One million to Ms. Klein. Dare I ask… do I hear one million and one?”

  The crowd fell quiet, an expectant hush descending on the guests as they waited to hear if anyone dared oppose Olivia Klein. No-one did.

  “Going once, going twice, sold! To Ms. Klein for one million dollars.”

  There was a roar of applause from the guests and I swore I saw a tiny smile sweep across the pretty face of Amanda. What must it be like to know that your body is worth one million dollars to someone? I could only imagine.

  I felt a sharp tug on the leash and I realised that I was staring. I turned to face my mistress and found she had a black look on her face. “Olivia Klein always enjoyed a little showmanship in her dealings. Hope that poor girl likes dress up!” she spat, then wandered off into the room, pulling me behind her. I turned my head back and made eye contact with Amanda. The young girl smiled at me warmly, her face a perfect composition of pure joy.

  ---

  The mistress led me over to the far corner of the room, away from the hustle and bustle of the auction stage. Here, we found a much calmer gathering, but no less perplexing. A ring of chairs and sofas surrounded a plush rug, on which kneeled a naked girl. The girl was posed like a submissive, but appeared anything but. Her head was raised and she stared off into the distance. She appeared to be smirking, a confident grin that seemed at odds with her kneeling stance.

  Around her, a number of men and women sat on the chairs, their maids and submissives standing obediently behind them. Another dapper gentleman strolled from person to person, making light conversation and laughing at shared jokes. He was shorter and more rotund than the auctioneer, but no less refined.

  Strangest of all, hanging above the rug from a long wire attached to the ceiling was a strap-on dildo. A perfect cylinder, eight inches long and several around, attached to a harness of leather straps. Every so often, the kneeling girl would stare at it and grin.

  After a few moments, the short host stepped towards the girl and grabbed her ponytail, pulling her head back.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. I ask you again, can anyone challenge our reigning champion? The lovely Rebecca.” The girl smiled up at him, holding her pose and relishing the attention. “All your girl needs to do is reach this monstrous appendage before Rebecca,” he gestured at the hanging strap-on, “put it on and fuck her with it! It’s that simple.”

  The gathered guests laughed at this, but nobody moved. I scanned around and saw the submissives all looking nervous and uncomfortable. I wondered why.

  “Come now, ladies and gentlemen. This challenge is easy! Rebecca has fucked five girls tonight, to within an inch of their lives. See how the appendage in question still glistens with the exquisite juices of the fallen!” I glanced at the dildo. It did. “She is unquestionably exhausted and perfect fodder for your girl to take the spoils! Come now ladies and gentlemen, do we have a worthy opponent?”

  Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on my collar and I stumbled forwards into the ring of chairs. Too late, I realised that my feet were about to catch on the edge of the rug and I found myself falling forward. I landed heavily on my hands and knees, my ass in the air, exposing myself to the guests behind me. I panted, struggling to catch my breath.

  “I wish to challenge with Cassandra,” said the mistress from behind me, and I realised that she was standing alongside me and unclipping the leash.

  “Mistress, no!” I whispered, suddenly mortified by my exposed state and the prospect of performing in front of these people.

  “Oh come now girl, where’s your fighting spirit? The honor of our house is at stake!” She leaned over and unzipped my dress at the back. Before I could protest, she’d taken hold of the hem and was rolling it up over my head, complete with my maid’s apron. Finally, she unclipped my bra and pulled it away from my body as I tried in vain to cover my tits and pussy.

  “Good luck, don't let me down,” she whispered as she gathered my clothes together and lightly kissed my ear. Then she stood up and walked away, leaving me kneeling in just my black stockings and heels opposite Rebecca.

  The host wandered around behind me and bent down, pulling the shoes off my feet. “Can’t have you wearing these my dear, safety in the workplace and all that, what?” he quipped as he handed my heels to the mistress.

  I gathered myself and attempted to calm down. The mistress wished this of me and my only duty was to obey. Nevertheless, I felt deeply ashamed of my nakedness. The weight of the guests’ stares on me felt almost intolerably distressing. Slowly, I lowered my arms to my side and sat back on my lower legs. Then I raised my head and, with all the confidence I could muster, stared at the grinning girl who kneeled opposite me.

  Rebecca was toned, athletic and muscular. There seemed to be not a single ounce of fat on her, and she was almost totally flat chested. Between her parted legs, I could see her perfectly shaved pussy and began to wonder if any submissives had a bush.

  I looked her in the eye and mirrored her pose. Arms crossed behind my back, raised up on my knees, chest pushed outwards. She smiled back at me, a look of hungry determination in her eyes as her gaze flicked across my naked body. She was openly enjoying this, and clearly intended to fuck me as she’d fucked the girls before
. I glanced up at the swinging dildo, almost perfectly equidistant between the two of us.

  Glumly, I began to wonder how I would win this. Rebecca was obviously far fitter than me and far more practised at this strange contest. The only thing I had going for me was my weight. Just a few pounds to be sure, but it might be enough to swing it. I steadied my breathing, suddenly filled with a desire to win the contest and please the mistress.

  “Ladies. The competition rules are clear. Reach the strap-on, put it on and then fuck your opponent to win. Are you ready?”

  We both nodded. There was a murmur of anticipation from the ring of guests.

  “Then… begin!”

  Rebecca moved first, shifting her weight forwards onto her feet in an effort to stand and grab the swinging dildo. I anticipated this. Rather than going for the dildo myself, a race I could never win, I launched myself forward at the other girl’s body.

  I struck her in her midsection with my shoulder, a perfect tackle, and we both fell to the rug. Our naked bodies entwined as I landed on her and she gasped her surprise as I tried to pin her to the ground with my weight. But I hadn’t anticipated her strength and she wrapped her arms around me, then rolled us over so that she was on top of me now.

  I peered up at her, arms pinned by my side. Our faces were inches apart and I could feel her hot breath on my skin. I struggled and writhed, but this only made her tighten her python like grip around me. I realised that I was just wasting my energy and that she’d have to move for the dildo soon. I went limp in her arms and conceded this skirmish to her.

  She smiled as she sensed my capitulation and whispered, “I’m going to enjoy fucking your pussy, bitch.” Then she leaned forwards and locked her lips on mine, kissing me passionately. At first, surprise caused me to resist. I struggled once more, but couldn’t move enough to get away from her. I relaxed and opened my mouth slightly, allowing her tongue to probe inside me.